Foundations of Feud and Flame
by MissWitchx
Summary: The origin of the Malfoy/Weasley feud can be traced back to 1666; the year of The Great Fire of London...


**A/N: **I don't own Harry Potter etc etc. I also don't own the cover image; that was one I found online.

I have well and truly challenged myself with this one, using an extremely minor character and an O.C. for the pairing, (Brutus Malfoy is a real character who was alive during this time so I figured, why not?)

This is basically my take on how the Malfoy/ Weasley feud originated and a historical fic. It's a little different but I'd love it if you'd give it a read :)

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_Written for the Quidditch League competition (season 2, round 3)_

_Team/Position: Holyhead Harpies - Beater 2_

_Task: Write about a human-caused disaster. I chose the Great Fire of London_

_Bonus prompts: "Choose it or lose it" (dialogue), Someday by Nickelback (song)_

_..._

_Also for the Favourite House Boot-camp Challenge: In the end, it doesn't matter_

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**Foundations of Feud and Flame**

…

_London_

_2__nd__ September 1666_

…

The narrow cobbled streets are dark and dank. Navigating my way through them whilst sustaining any amount of dignity is damn-near impossible, but I do my best; huddling my limbs tightly into my body along with my heavy and flowing cloak as I shuffle evasively around pathetic, drunken Muggles and puddles of odorous sewage. A subtle cleansing charm certainly doesn't go amiss once I emerge and head down the next labyrinthine alley.

My lip curls in disgust, though whether it is intentional or simply a natural reaction to my surroundings I cannot say, for my mind is abuzz with thoughts of _her. _

As I turn the next corner a rush of warmth beats into my skin, and my pace quickens out of determination to reach her. London has been subjected to a lengthy drought for quite some time, so the heat is no stranger to this city; however this is a different sort entirely. The air itself is cold and sharp like the blade of a knife against the exposed skin of my face, but there is a tangible burst of warmth that I know is not an act of nature.

The rhythmic taps of my shoes and cane echo against the uneven floor is reminiscent to that of the rapid beating of my heart as I bypass the next peaceful row of houses, filled to burst with unsuspecting Muggles who are presumably sleeping given the late hour. I'm so lost in my thoughts that I don't realise my breath has become ragged until I reach Pudding Lane and it catches in my throat.

Blinding orange flames reflect in my usually cold and steely eyes and a chorus of terrified screams meet my ears. _They are only Muggles, _I think to myself, and I hurry on towards the riverfront where her house is, which isn't that far from the fire. In the current circumstances I'm not sure if that is a good or a bad thing…

Fourteen years ago, when that Muggle astrologer William Lilly published those absurd doodles of alleged 'prophetic hieroglyphics', I dismissed them without a second thought, dubbing this fool as nothing more than a fraud and a glory-hunter. Six years later, Arlene, being an avid practitioner of Divination, stated that the alignment of certain moons of planets on this very night corresponded exactly with one of Lilly's prophecies: namely, the fire that I just bore witness to.

True to my stubborn character, I laughed in her face. That had been the biggest mistake of them all in hindsight, because Arlene Weasley is no pushover; she has a hot-headedness that could always rival that of a Malfoy, such as myself. Our clashing opinions led to her leaving me: alone and heartbroken.

I have tried many times to change her mind. I'd tell her that someday I'd make it up to her, and that somehow, I would win her back, but my reluctance to step foot into her Muggle neighbourhood never did much to convince her that I could change. But the drought in recent months made me consider the likelihood of this 'Great Fire' actually happening; bright sun and the thatched roof of the bakery on Pudding Lane never seemed like a good combination.

On a whim, I had to see if it had been a real prophecy all along, and I finally stepped foot into a Muggle-infested area. At first, my motives were purely selfish_; if this wouldn't convince her to take me back, what will?_ Now, however, her safety is my priority.

It hasn't escaped my mind that she is a bright witch, and probably would have already prepared for this disaster – after all, she did know years in advance that it was going to happen - and fled the country, but as I skid to a halt outside her door, I can't help but knock anyway. I almost wish that she won't answer: that would tell me that she is already gone and safe, but when the wooden door swings open and Arlene is standing before me with a candle in her hands, my heart flutters in my chest with relief.

"Brutus?" she frowns, "Are you alright?" She crosses her arms. Her eyes are cold as she fights back a scowl, but I detect an amused glint in her brown eyes. I know that she'd have some choice words on the tip of her tongue, but in this day and age young ladies who do not behave as such put their lives at risk in regards to the law for not following social protocol.

Her red locks flow around her shoulders and contrast brilliantly with the porcelain complexion of her skin and cotton nightdress, and I am momentarily caught up in a bittersweet nostalgia before I speak.

"Things could be better. My appearance is simply a reflection of my haste to reach you tonight. The Great Fire you and William Lilly prophesized has set the bakery alight. We must leave, Arlene, lest we become victims of its flames."

As I absently mention the fire, I grow paranoid at how much the fire would have spread by now. The yellow light of the candle now seems orange and dangerous as it bounces off Arlene's delicate skin. I'm also very aware of the way my hair is plastered against the length of my neck from sweat that was likely to have originated simply from my anxiety and pumping adrenaline, but I can't shake the notion that the perspiration on my forehead has been caused by the fire. I gulp, but my throat is dry.

"Brutus, I won't allow you to play the part of the hero while I settle for the damsel-in-distress role. All those years ago when I told you I had foreseen this disaster I suggested that we compose an evacuation plan. We could have been away from London by now, safe, but you told me not to meddle in things that are inappropriate for a lady. You wouldn't listen. The story has played out now and there's nothing you can do to re-write it."

Her manner towards me is expected, but at the same time, so shocking. The building panic in my body causes something in me to snap, and I yank her by the wrist from the step.

"Do _not_ talk to me that way," I hiss. "You'd do well to learn your place."

"Excuse me for being blunt but isn't this what went wrong between us in the first place? You told me I should remember to remain loyal to you: a wizard, over the Muggle astrologer."

It amazes me how Arlene can make such a bold statement and still remain composed on the outside.

The noise in the streets is growing louder, and the thick cloud of smoke is growing larger by the second. The fire is spreading, and getting closer. By the sounds of it the Muggle parish constables have arrived, and doing very little to help. It astounds me how powerless and weak these people are.

"I'm sorry, Arlene. Forgive me, please. We can re-write this ending; I told you that someday I'd show you that we could. I can't lose you again," I release her wrist and look her in the eye. "Let's go. We can apparate once we're out of the Muggle neighbourhood." I grab her hand more gently this time and start to lead her away but she resists.

Arlene is looking down the street, where a young woman is standing in the top window of her house. She is cradling a baby to her chest, screaming for somebody to help her, but the crackle of flames drown her out, and the Muggle constables are too far away to see or hear.

"Arlene?"

"We need to help her," she responds robotically as she pulls out of my grip.

"What? But Arlene-."

"Brutus, we need to help her. She has a baby."

"No," I grab her again. "Is it really worth risking your life, for a _Muggle child_, no less?"

Arlene whips around; her eyes cutting me like daggers. There are definite orange sparks reflected in there, making them look almost molten; the fire is licking at this row of houses now.

"How heartless are you?" she demands.

I'm affronted by her attitude. "This is not acceptable decorum, Arlene. What's more it is certainly not your job to put this fire out. It was a _Muggle_ contraption in a _Muggle_ establishment that caused the fire; hence it's the _Muggle's_ problem to deal with."

"I'll have you know that I was watching from my window when it started. The fire was actually caused by a baby Welsh Green dragon that lives with Mr Gardiner, the Squib who lives _next door_ to the bakery. I'm sorry if you don't agree with this, Brutus, but I feel a moral obligation to do something."

"Keep your voice down!" I implore helplessly. "You know the penalty for behaving-."

"Yes, I do," Arlene nods, her ears turning red from the heat of what could either be the fire or her anger. "And I like to think that the Ministry will make an exception, given the current circumstances."

I hear the snap of wooden beams breaking. In a flash Arlene's house is engulfed in flames, and it collapses, landing in the street and separating us.

"Are you okay?" I shout, wrapping my cloak around my mouth to avoid inhaling too much smoke.

"I'm fine!" Arlene shouts back. I see her run towards the house with the screaming woman with her wand raised, away from me.

"NO! You'll expose us all!" I scream. Amazingly, she heard me.

"I think it's worth the risk when there are lives at stake!"

"_Muggle's_ lives!" I yell incredulously. "If you help them, you're just as bad as they are. You'll become a filthy Blood Traitor!"

The remains of her house are burnt out now, so the barricade that separates us is no longer ablaze. The same can't be said for the rest of the street, however.

"What did you call me?" Arlene demanded.

"You heard," I say lowly. "You've been like this all along, haven't you? It wasn't your bloody prediction that made you go along with what that Muggle said at all, was it?"

"If I despise you so much then why are you still here?"

"Because I love you, Arlene! I just want you to be safe; this horror-story ending wasn't meant for us."

"So, what do you want?" she asks me, all the while turning her head to see if the woman with the baby is still alive.

"Choose." I say. "Me or them."

"Brutus!" she gasps, her white skin now peppered with soot. "How could you-?"

"I, for one, still care about what is expected of me! I could never be with someone who associates so freely with Muggles. Choose it or lose it: that's how things work in my book. Just apparate to this side and you and I can-."

Arlene rakes her hand through her dishevelled hair in disbelief. "Oh so it's perfectly okay for me to use magic when it benefits _you_? I think that tells me exactly what kind of person you are."

She turns and looks around for Muggles before casting a silent _Aguamenti _charm on the blazing house with the woman and the baby, and successfully extinguishes the flames whilst casting another charm to ensure the foundations of the building stay standing.

My lip curls in disgust again. "I can't believe I've wanted you back all these years when you were just a filthy Blood Traitor the whole time."

"Family is the most important thing in the world to me," Arlene says. I can barely hear as the volume around the city is growing louder still.

Then she looks me dead in the eye one last time. It is a penetrating and soulful stare that flares with passion and meaning. "And I for one, consider myself lucky that I've managed to escape starting a family with such a cold, selfish man such as yourself."

"And I'm thankful for not trying to give us a happy ending sooner if I knew what you were really like."

"Ending?" she scoffs, her burning eyes still boring into mine as crowds of Muggles run in terror through the cobbled streets. "In the 'end', whether that be now or what could have been, it doesn't matter! We both would have had to face the truth sooner or later."

She doesn't even allow me a last word. Arlene sets off down the street, all the while shooting water over the fire with her wand whenever an opportunity would present itself.

I can't seem to look away, even though I know I need to. She is going to wind up getting herself killed one of these days with that do-good attitude of hers.

_Not matter, _I think as I cast a disillusionment charm on myself, which the stupid Muggles are too busy running around like idiots to notice. I apparate to the other side of the river and watch the Great Fire from afar, coughing violently due to what I can only assume to be too much smoke inhalation from my confrontation with Arlene.

If I'd known how different we were, I never would have made those promises to her of making everything okay again someday, which consequently meant that my life wouldn't have been at risk tonight. I can't make everything all right, be that between us as two individuals or us as two family lines.

The argument tonight was like a fault line in the aftermath of an earthquake; an omnipresent divide between two distinct patches of land, never to be joined again.

The most apt detail is that a fault line, once created, can only ever grow larger.

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**A/N: **The William Lilly predictions were actually real (I did my research ;D) I'd love to hear your thoughts on this one.

Thanks for reading!

Word count: 2,290

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_'Now the story's played out like this_  
_Just like a paperback novel_  
_Let's rewrite an ending that fits_  
_Instead of a Hollywood horror._

_Someday, somehow_  
_I'm gonna make it all right but not right now...'_


End file.
